Remember Me But O!

Alexander-Yellowsun swallows another mouthful of toxic water and continues to  think about science.

How satisfying it is to be part of an important experiment.

And be the one to die first.

Her head swims. Woo.

It occurs to her that her last thoughts might be of interest to science.

Alex! Come closer.

Alexander-Red-Hook can only come closer if she leaves the control bowl.

Gaius has gone to check on the male crabs.

Kierkegaard is opening the fridge, looking for pickles.

Terence is elsewhere.

Alexander-Red-Hook climbs out of the control bowl and peers into the toxic solution in which her friend lies.

You came! says Alexander-Yellowsun.

I came, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Is the end near?

I think so, says Alexander-Yellowsun. I'm having my last thoughts. Listen.

Alexander-Red-Hook weeps.

Don't weep, says Alexander-Yellowsun. You'll alter the salt concentration.

Will that matter? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Of course it will, says Alexander-Yellowsun. Although not to me personally. Draw closer.

Yes, dear, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

She draws closer. Her friend speaks:

my last thoughts~~~~~a hole in the sands of life so comfy poor alexander times roman cracked in two useless i go in name of science remember me remember me, but o! ~~~~~~

Isn't that from Dido and Aeneas? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Isn't what? says Alexander-Yellowsun faintly.

O! says her best friend. Remember me but O! She kills herself as he sails away.

Who does? asks Alexander Yellowsun even more faintly.

Never mind, says Alexander-Red-Hook. It's lovely.

Cough!

Alexander Yellowsun coughs up a small piece of microplastic and dies shortly thereafter.

O! cries Alexander-Red-Hook.

Kierkegaard, having found a pickle jar containing only one pickle, comes over to see what has happened.

The Nibble Incident

Now the five crabs are in their proper containers, with the correct concentrations of microplastics, according to Gaius's calulations.

Kierkegaard emerges from the bathroom, his knee plastered.

All going well? asks Kierkegaard.

Yes, says Gaius. There was nearly an upset, but I have rectified the situation.

What happened? asks Kierkegaard.

A change of position, says Gaius. The control crab is no longer nearest the window. Her friend is.

Ah, the one with the shortest future, says Kierkegaard. That is kind.

Yes, I thought so, says Gaius. It was Terence who moved them.

Me, says Terence. I moved them. They asked me first.

Kierkegaard peers into the breakfast bowl nearest the window.

She looks well, says Kierkegaard.

I am well, says Alexander-Yellowsun. It's nice near the window.

Yes, more light, says Kierkegaard. Comforting, when you know death is near.

You could not know that, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

I could, says Kierkegaard. I live in fear of dying prematurely, due to the curse of my father.

A curse? says Alexander-Yellowsun. Bollocks. A curse is very different from immersion in a high concentration of microplastics, where a premature death is a foregone conclusion.

I agree, says Kierkegaard. It makes me wonder why you agreed to cooperate.

Since Terence told us what happened to Frog, says Alexander-Yellowsun, I am even more determined to do it.

Why, what happened to Frog? asks Kierkegaard.

Ask Terence, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Kierkegaard looks at Terence,

What? says Terence.

What happened to Frog? asks Kierkegaard.

Splattered, says Terence. He fell out of the window. Ageless was watching.

A frog should have landed on its feet, says Kierkegaard.

Frog didn't have feet, says Terence. Just a head.

Yes, says Gaius. A head full of  questions about science. I remember we took him to a science talk at the Science Exchange, in the days before it went digital. There were nibbles afterwards and a chance to talk science. Frog was most disappointed.

Why was that? asks Kierkegaard.

He was mistaken for a nibble, says Gaius. Of course, I saved him from being eaten, but he was shaken.

What fool would mistake a frog for a nibble? asks Kierkegaard.

Frog was a tomato, says Gaius, which does partly explain it, but it was evident he had an intelligent facial expression.

Alexander-Yellowsun was previously unaware of the nibble incident.

But it only serves to confirm what she knows already.

Life is uncertain. Death isn't.

She swallows a mouthful of microplastic rich seawater, and turns her face to the window.

Light streams in, as she thinks about science........

It Might Seem That They're Lying

There, says Terence. Now your bowl is next to the window. Don't forget that.

I won't, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Is it better to die next to a window? asks Terence.

O yes, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Why? asks Terence.

Because of the light, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Terence thinks about friends that have died.

Most recently, Alexander-Times-Roman, who Terence stepped on.

Saint Roley's brother, who floated out to sea on a cardboard.

Frog, who fell out of a window.

Gaius returns with the water.

At last! says Gaius. It took me forever to find Kierkegaard a plaster. Now whose bowl is which?

The crabs don't answer, in case it might seem that they're lying.

Never mind, I remember, says Gaius. The control bowl is nearest the window.

He tips fifty millilitres of normal seawater into the bowl nearest the window.

Alexander-Yellowsun starts to climb in.

Wait! says Gaius. You are not the control crab!

But I was in this bowl before, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

You were? says Gaius. Then there's been a mix up.

No, there hasn't, says Terence. I swapped the bowls after they got out, so she could be nearest the window.

Why ever did you think she should be nearest the window? asks Gaius.

For the light when she dies, says Terence.

A poetic concept, says Gaius, but it has resulted in the inadvertent dilution of her microplastic-rich water.

Just add more microplastics, says Alexander-Yellowsun. I can handle it.

You do look quite chipper, says Gaius. I expected you to be wilting.

My number of viable eggs has decreased, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

That was due to mishandling, says Gaius. Nothing to do with the microplastic concentration.

They want a photo, says Terence.

No time for that now, says Gaius. I must do some quick calculations.

He goes off to find paper and pencil in order to work out exactly what proportion of microplastic mixture he should add to the non control bowl, to make everything right again.

Terence has stayed with the crabs.

Frog fell out of a window, says Terence. He fell onto the paving bricks and died. All his seeds were spread out in a pattern.

Frogs have seeds? says Alexander-Red-Hook. You surprise me.

Terence explains that Frog was a withered tomato.

Water Is Water

What happens in forty five minutes? asks Gaius.

Nothing, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Let me rephrase that, says Gaius. What happens when the forty five minutes is up?

You don't want to know, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

I do, if it's related to the experiment, says Gaius. Is it? Yes or no?

Yes or no, says Terence. Do you know what that means?

Of course they do, says Gaius.

They might not, says Terence. They forget things.

What did we forget? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

You wanted a photo, says Terence.

Oh yes, says Gaius. What was that for?

I remembered, says Terence. But they didn't. And they didn't answer my question.

We did, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Not the one about seawater, says Terence.

You didn't ask, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Will you accept an extra dash of seawater? asks Gaius.

The two sand crabs look at one another.

This might be a chance to cover their deception.

Yes. If we can stay out of the breakfast bowls while you do it, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

I don't see why not, says Gaius. I'll fetch the seawater.

Help! cries Kierkegaard, from the laundry. I'm hemmed in by cleaning devices.The door won't open.

So Gaius is diverted towards the laundry. He forces the laundry door open.

Kierkegaard is wedged into an alcove, behind a vacuum cleaner and a long cobweb sweeper. His right knee is bleeding.

Ha ha! laughs Gaius.

It's no laughing matter, snaps Kierkegaard. What an untidy and dangerous laundry!

Apologies, says Gaius. But you reminded me of Arthur. He always has a grazed knee. And you're wearing his shorts....... I'm sorry, would you like a plaster?

Kierkegaard would like a plaster. So now Gaius must go to the bathroom to look for a plaster.

This will give Alexander-Red-Hook and Alexander-Yellowsun a chance to swap breakfast bowls while Gaius isn't looking.

They hop out.

But Terence is looking.

And there's another thing. Their names on their carapaces, in distinctive fonts.

They need to swap the breakfast bowls, and they need Terence to do it.

Terence, says Alexander-Red-Hook, will it make any difference to the experiment if our bowls swap places?

Terence thinks about this. Pumpkins are not speedboats. Bowls are not crabs. But water is water.

No, says Terence. Why do you want them to?

I want dear Alex to be nearer the window, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Because she will die first.

Terence needs no more persuasion.

He swaps the breakfast bowls, before Gaius has even opened a third drawer in the bathroom and failed to find a plaster.

The Joke Is What?

There is nothing in the bedroom with which to prop up a mattress.

Kierkegaard decides to have a look in the laundry. He remembers observing a broom handle there.

He is passing through the kitchen on his way to the laundry when he hears Gaius enunciating loudly: DIS-TIN-GUISH-ING FEAT-URES!

And Terence saying: Yes! DINKY SQUISH FEATURES! It's nearly the SAME!

And then Kierkegaard enters the laundry, missing the rest of the conversation, which continues.

Gaius: Now what's this about pumpkins in forty five minutes?

Alexander Red-Hook: A joke.

Gaius: I enjoy a good joke. What is it?

Alexander Red-Hook: Do you know the story of Cinderella?

Gaius: No.

Terence: Me either

Alexander-Red-Hook: No wonder you didn't think my pumpkin joke was funny.

Terence: I would think it was funny if you weren't in our experiment.

Gaius: Terence is right. We can't allow you to turn into a pumpkin. But go on, continue.

Alexander-Red-Hook: Once upon a time.....

Alexander-Yellowsun: O I love this story!

Gaius: Do keep it short though. I hear Kierkegaard banging about in the laundry. Sometimes when you move one thing, everything collapses.

Kierkegaard (faintly, from the laundry): Ouch! Drat and damnation!

Alexander Red-Hook: I'll just tell the part about the pumpkin.

Terence: Yay!

Alexander-Yellowsun: It won't make sense if you don't explain why Cinderella gets into a pumpkin.

Alexander-Red-Hook: Don't worry. I will. But it isn't a pumpkin when she gets into it.

Gaius: Could you begin please?

Alexander-Red-Hook: Okay. There was once a beautiful sand crab called Cinderella who had to live with a mean crab family who made her do chores.

Terence: What are chores?

Alexander-Red-Hook:  Sweeping and dishes. And she had two ugly crab sisters who didn't have to do any chores, but went to crab-dancing classes.

Terence: In a pumpkin?

Alexander Yellowsun: No. Wait and see.

Alexander Red Hook: Well, no. She was crying at home because she couldn't go to the crab-dancing classes and a Sweet-Crab-Mother appeared with a pumpkin. and said would you like me to turn it into a speedboat, you can go to crab-dancing classes in it, because I can do that. Yes please said Cinderella, so she did and she went to the crab-dancing classes and forgot that if she didn't get home in forty five minutes the speed boat would turn back into a pumpkin.

Gaius: I see. And the joke is what exactly?

Alexander-Red-Hook: In a similar situation, one can say one must get home before one turns into a pumpkin.

Gaius: But she didn't know it would happen.

Alexander-Red-Hook: She did, but she forgot. I left out that part.

Alexander-Yellowsun: You could easily guess it.

Gaius: You had no such constraints put on you. Unless....is it something to do with the forty five minutes?

Thus Gaius edges closer to discovering the truth of the matter.

Dinky-Squish Features

Did you spoil the brides' dresses? asks Alexander-Yellowsun.

No, we usually missed, says Terence. We were pretty high up. But sometimes we got a bulls eye.

Red spots on white dresses, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Couldn't be worse, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

But you LIKE red spots, says Terence. You've got two on your back.

No, I haven't, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Of course you have, dear, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We all do. Have you forgotten?

They look like red eyes, says Terence. That's what I thought they were but Gaius said they were dinky-squish features.

Dinky-squish features! says Alexander-Red-Hook. Gaius would never say that.

I'd totally forgotten, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

They're on your behind, says Terence. Want a photo?

She doesn't need a photo, says Alexander-Red-Hook. She can see mine.

Alexander-Red-Hook turns around in her breakfast bowl, but it makes little difference.

I can't see your red dots, Alex, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

I'll get out of the bowl, then you'll see them, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Don't do that! says Alexander-Yellowsun. Wait till the forty five minutes is over.

What happens then? asks Terence.

We turn into pumpkins, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Alexander-Yellowsun laughs.

But you don't make a lighthearted remark like that to Terence.

Terence runs over to Gaius.

Will they accept extra sea water? asks Gaius.

I didn't ask yet, says Terence.

What's the hold up? asks Gaius.

They want a photo of their dinky-squish features, says Terence. And they're going to turn into pumpkins in forty five minutes.

This piques Gaius's curiosity.

I'll have to to sort this out, says Gaius.

Fine, says Kierkegaard. Just tell me quickly how to best press my trousers.

Simply lift up my mattress, says Gaius, and slide them under.

Kierkegaard can't picture this working. He knows Gaius's mattress. It's heavy. It would press the trousers all right, but one man couldn't lift it, insert the trousers and smooth them out all on his own.

He goes into the bedroom to see if there is something he can use to prop up the mattress, although a more practical man would first try the laundry.

Red Spitball Wedding

Kierkegaard makes up three different solutions.

Gaius transfers the three male sand crabs to the salad bowls.

Terence asks if he can pour in the water.

Better not, says Gaius. We'll let Kierkegaard do it.

What can I do? asks Terence.

Go and ask Alexander-Red-Hook and Alexander-Yellowsun if they're content in the breakfast bowls, says Gaius. And don't mention an alternative.

Shouldn't he ask if they'd like extra seawater? asks Kierkegaard.

Yes, ask them, says Gaius, but don't take no for an answer.

I never do, says Terence.

He goes over to where the two female crabs are relaxing in breakfast bowls and speaking of romance.

They could even get married, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

But what would he wear? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Who cares what HE wears? says Alexander-Yellowsun. What would SHE wear?

O, says Alexander-Red-Hook, I think HE ought to wear something that suits the occasion. It goes without saying that SHE would.

He might not have anything but those damp purple shorts with the skulls on, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Hee-hee, laughs Alexander-Red-Hook. But no, he does have some trousers. I think Gaius intends to press them under his mattress.

That's ingenious, says Alexander-Yellow-Sun.

As long as the base doesn't have wooden slats, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Both crabs laugh, picturing Kierkegaard's neatly ridged trousers.

They are about to turn their attention to the more fascinating question of what Belle would wear, when Terence appears, with his question.

I have a question, says Terence.

I hope it's not about which bowls we're in, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

(Remember, they swapped bowls for forty five minutes).

It sort of is, says Terence.

Oops, says Alexander-Yellowsun. We'll be swapping back soon.

Does that mean you're not happy? says Terence.

We're very happy, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We're talking about weddings. Have you ever been to a wedding?

No, says Terence. Not TO one, but I've been OVER hundreds.

Over hundreds? says Alexander-Red-Hook. What on earth are  you talking about?

I used to live over the front door of a palace, says Terence.

How glorious! Tell us about the brides' dresses, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

We used to drop red spitballs down onto them, says Terence. Me and my parrot.

Not quite what the crabs were expecting.

Redeeming Bad Science

Surely all is not lost? says Kierkegaard. Can't the seawater be recovered?

Not the drops on the floor, says Gaius.

How about soaking them up with a tea towel? asks Kierkegaard.

What about the microplastics which would be unavoidably caught up in the tea towel? asks Gaius.

Surely a negligible amount, says Kierkegaard.

Nonetheless, bad science, says Gaius.

I know! says Terence. Alexander-Retro can drink it.

Who would have thought that Terence would come up with a sensible suggestion?

That's a sensible suggestion, says Gaius. But he has settled in the salad bowl. He may take some persuading.

I'm not DEAF, says Alexander-Retro.

Good, says Terence. Get out and drink the spilled water.

I'm not deaf and not reckless, says Alexander-Retro.

What does that mean, not reckless? asks Terence.

Reckless means doing things without regard to the consequences, says Gaius. Ask him what he fears?

I'm NOT DEAF! says Alexander-Retro.

Let me try, says Kierkegaard. Alexander-Retro, what is it you fear?

Thanks for asking, says Alexander-Retro. I fear contamination.

There you are, says Kierkegaard. He fears contamination. No doubt from your less than clean floor

Yes, all right, says Gaius. A reasonable fear.

Thank you, says Alexander-Retro. May I offer a suggestion?

Please do, says Gaius.

Allow Terence to tip Curly and Groovy into the other two salad bowls, taking note of the spillage. Then calculate the amount of microplastics needed to make the seawater up to the same composition as the original mixture. Then make it up, add it to our salad bowls, and Bob's your uncle.

Whose uncle? asks Terence.

An expression we crabs use, says Alexander-Retro.

What a fiddle, says Gaius. But we have little choice.

And while you're making up the various solutions, says Alexander-Retro, you might consider making up a bit extra, the new bowls being bigger...

Gaius sighs. That would mean making up extra for Alexander-Red-Hook and Alexander-Yellowsun. And what if they then demand salad bowls? That is quite likely.....

He looks at Kierkegaard.

Kierkegaard tries to think of a suitable aphorism....to dare is to... the most painful state of being is... life can only... no, none of these seems quite right in the circumstances.

Let us humour the crabs, says Kierkegaard.

Straight to the point. That's a good one.

What Could Be More Pressing?

I'm back, says Terence. Has anything happened?

Not much, says Alexander-Retro. But we want larger containers.

Okay, says Terence. Why?

Because we can't move about freely, says Alexander-Curly. We can't even turn around. See?

He turns around slowly, stirring up microplastics

You can, says Terence. But I see what you mean.

He opens a cupboard. Inside are three salad bowls, of various sizes.

He hauls them out and sets them out on the floor.

How about these? asks Terence.

Alexander-Retro looks over the rim of his olive container.

Three salad bowls. One red, one blue, and one burnt sienna.

All of them roomy.

Yes! says Alexander-Retro. What do you think, guys?

Alexander-Curly and Alexander-Groovy agree that the salad bowls are a vast improvement.

Who's going in the red one? asks Terence.

Me, says Alexander-Retro.

Terence is just about to tip Alexander-Retro and his seawater into the red salad bowl when Gaius returns to the kitchen.

He has not found an iron.

But he has remembered an excellent method of pressing trousers without one.

He is about to pass through the kitchen and go to his bedroom to inform Kierkegaard of the excellent method (which can be done in a bedroom) when he sees Terence about to tip one of the experimental subjects into a red salad bowl which rests on the floor.

Hold it! says Gaius. What are you doing?

They can't turn around! They need more space. They asked me, says Terence.

They should have asked me! says Gaius.

We couldn't, says Alexander-Retro, who is dangling from the rim of the olive container that Terence is holding at an angle.

Seawater drips into the salad bowl; a few drops splash onto the floor.

Curses! says Gaius. The experiment is ruined. Turn up that olive bowl. No! Put it down.

Kierkegaard chooses this moment to return to the kitchen in his cool shorts.

Cool, and slightly dampish.

They look even more vibrant after a soaking, says Kierkegaard.

What? says Gaius. Oh yes, they do, I imagine Arthur didn't wash them very often. And remind me to tell you about an alternative to using an iron. But right now we have more pressing concerns.

To Kierkegaard's credit, he doesn't ask what could be more pressing than ironing his trousers. It is clear that the experiment has been compromised. What a nuisance.

One of our subjects has lost some of his seawater, says Gaius.

It's not lost, says Terence. It's right there and the rest is here except for this bit.

Alexander-Retro drops neatly into the salad bowl, to establish his new position.

He turns around several times, freely.

Brave Soul

Do you really think Kierkegaard likes the shorts better? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

I do, says Alexander Yellowsun. Didn't I say so?

But why? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

Because he's thinking about going surfing with Belle, says Alexander Yellowsun. Remember how he said she was like his fiancée.

You're right. And she helped him take the shorts off, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

And then they went out of the room, says Alexander-Yellowsun. Anything could have happened.

Yes! And Gaius was out, getting seawater! says Alexander-Red-Hook. Which reminds me, dear, would you like some of mine?

I'm trying not to swallow it, says Alexander-Yellowsun. I filter it , but sometimes I forget, when I'm talking. I've spat out so much stuff, but it sinks back to the bottom and gets stirred up when I move. I know I signed up for this, but it's still really shitty.

Dearest, says Alexander Red-Hook. I can't just look on while you suffer. Hop out and we'll swap places for forty five minutes.

They swap places.

This is why scientific experiments require an independent observer.

Alexander Curly, Alexander Retro and Alexander Groovy have not noticed the swap, which took place not far from their too-small former olive containers.

They too are discussing the shorts.

I would wear shorts any day, says Alexander-Curly. Especially those ones.

Now that they're clean, says Alexander-Retro.

It wouldn't even matter, says Alexander-Curly. It was only dried sauce.

Purple's my favourite colour, says Alexander-Groovy. And skulls are my favourite motif.

Come on! says Alexander Curly. You never told us.

Well, now you know, says Alexander-Groovy. I wonder where he got them?

From the drawer in Gaius's bedroom, says Alexander-Retro.

No, I mean where Arthur got them, says Alexander-Groovy.

Who knows? says Alexander-Retro. Anyway, they won't make crab sizes.

It's not just size, either, says Alexander Curly. It's the number of leg holes.

The three of them are silent, picturing small purple skull shorts with multiple leg holes.

At least this is passing the time.

Terence is in the bedroom with Kierkegaard , watching him step into the shorts.

They're not even DRY! says Terence.

Dry enough, says Kierkegaard.

You love them, says Terence. Ha ha! Wet shorts.

Why are you in here? asks Kierkegaard. Go and watch the crabs. Someone should be observing.

Terence goes. Yes, he should be observing.

As he pulls up the shorts, Kierkegaard notices the faded label, below the back waistband.

Brave Soul.

Imagine his pleasure.

Kierkegaard's Original Trousers

The experiment has started.

Alexander-Retro, Alexander-Groovy and Alexander-Curly have been placed side by side.

Alexander-Retro looks over the rim of his container, at the other two.

What are you guys up to? asks Alexander-Retro.

Nothing, says Alexander-Groovy. There's nothing to do.

Me too, nothing, says Alexander-Curly.

We need more space, says Alexander-Retro. These olive containers are made for olives.

Yes, they're all right for olives, says Alexander-Curly.

Too late now, says Alexander-Groovy.

Didn't Gaius say there'd be someone here to answer our questions? asks Alexander-Curly.

No, to observe us. But we should be allowed to ask questions, says Alexander-Retro.

There's no one here, says Alexander-Groovy.

Let's ask the control crab, says Alexander-Curly.

Are we allowed to? asks Alexander-Groovy.

She's just over there, says Alexander-Curly. HEY! RED HOOK!

What is it? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. I'm busy.

Doing what? asks Alexander Retro.

Having a quiet conversation, says Alexander-Red-Hook. About using time wisely.

Who with? asks Alexander-Retro.

My best friend, who else? says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Where's Gaius? asks Alexander-Retro.

Finding an iron, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

He's finding an iron, says Alexander-Retro to Alexander-Curly and Alexander-Groovy.

An iron, what for? asks Alexander-Curly.

What for? asks Alexander-Retro.

Trust you boys not to know what an iron is for, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

O, Alex, don't tease them, says her best friend Alexander Yellowsun.

All right, you tell them, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Talk about wasting time!

Listen up, says Alexander Yellowsun. If you guys had been paying attention you'd know this. Kierkegaard came back inside with his shorts and his original trousers, which had been on the line, drying. Gaius said now that Kierkegaard's original trousers were dry, he should put them on, and return Arthur's shorts to the bedroom. Kierkegaard said the trousers needed ironing and asked if Gaius had an iron. Gaius said he did have one somewhere. He's looking for it now.

So where's Kierkegaard? asks Alexander-Retro. He should have stayed here to observe us.

He's just putting the shorts on, says Alexander-Yellowsun. I think deep down he likes the shorts better.

The others now have something intriguing to think about.

Time Is Precious

Gaius has finished setting up the experiment.

Three former olive containers, filled with sea water, and one, two or three teaspoons of microplastics added.

Two breakfast bowls, filled with sea water, one with four teaspoons added, the other with none, for the control crab.

Get in, crabs, says Gaius. Do not fear. There will be someone here at all times to observe you.

That won't be necessary, says Alexander-Red-Hook. But I do have a few questions.

Shall I just get in? says Alexander-Yellowsun. I feel time from now on will be precious.

That relates to my first question, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

What is it? asks Gaius. Either I or Kierkegaard will be happy to answer your questions.

Or me, says Terence.

Why does my friend have the bowl with the highest concentration of microplastics? asks Alexander-Red-Hook.

But she doesn't, says Gaius. She can choose any container but yours.

She and I need to be together, says Alexander-Red-Hook. She's grieving over her lost babies.

Hardly babies, says Gaius. Eggs. Would you like me to rearrange the containers?

Won't that confuse things? asks Kierkegaard.

You are supposed to answer questions, not come up with new ones, says Gaius.

But he's right, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

I usually am, says Kierkegaard.

This is rich, thinks Gaius, coming from someone who didn't know how to get dried sauce off his shorts and is standing there in his underpants.

Your shorts are probably dry by now, says Gaius. Why don't you go outside and see. I'll deal with this expeditiously.

Kierkegaard had forgotten that his shorts were on the clothes line.

He goes out to see if they're dry.

Now, says Gaius. This is what we'll do. Alexander-Yellowsun can get in any container she likes. Then we'll move it next to the control bowl.

So what do I do? asks Alexander-Yellowsun.

Choose a container, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Remember which one contains what.

Objection, says Alexander-Groovy. Why does she get a choice and we don't?

Yes, why? asks Alexander-Curly.

It's only regarding the most toxic one, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Whoever gets in it will be the first one to die.

But we don't know that for certain, says Alexander-Yellowsun. Couldn't there be other factors?

Terence has been waiting for something that sounds like a question. It must be his turn,

But what does it mean, 'other factors'?

It helps to think about parrots

Yes, says Terence interrupting Gaius who was saying yes anyway.

Sometimes you blow up with air, says Terence.

Or other factors, adds Gaius.

In that case we need more information, says Alexander-Curly.

We all do, says Gaius. That is the point of the experiment. To obtain more information. I thought you knew that.

Blow up with air? says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Like a balloon parrot, says Terence. It pops, or goes down slowly.

Alexander-Yellowsun understands this completely.

Either way, time is precious.

Not All Red Not All Knowing

Now, says Gaius. It's your decision. Terence.

Why did you say Now? asks Terence.

Because now you have asked all the questions, so you're able to make an informed decision, says Gaius.

Yes, says Alexander-Groovy. I hope you'll choose me.

Don't worry I will, says Terence.

That's exactly why I said Now, says Gaius. Now means, you need to think carefully.

I am thinking carefully, says Terence. Two of the boy crabs aren't in it. That leaves Alexander-Groovy.

We protest, says Alexander-Red-Hook. We're still in it.

Well, says Terence, the reason you aren't in it is because you're lying in breakfast bowls and that means you're lazy.

Ah! says Gaius. And there was me thinking you were biased against females.

And there was us thinking the same, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Now Terence..... begins Gaius

What now? says Terence.

I want you think of the different qualities that the crabs have shown in their answers, not just which bowls they have chosen.

What's a quality? asks Terence.

I'm pleased that you asked, says Gaius. What's your favourite creature?

A parrot, says Terence.

Describe your ideal parrot, says Gaius.

Jinjing, says Terence.

What is Jinjing LIKE? asks Gaius.

Missing, says Terence. Where is he?

Apart from that, persists Gaius.

It's difficult to direct Terence's thinking.

He knows everything, says Terence. And he's red.

He isn't entirely red, says Gaius. And he doesn't know everything. But you're on the right track.

Red, says Alexander-Red-Hook. That's my favourite colour. That's why I chose Red Hook as my font.

You're picked, says Terence.

Alexander-Red-Hook is delighted.

Congratulations darling, says Alexander-Yellowsun. Don't forget me.

And don't forget me, says Alexander-Groovy, offering a claw.

So Gaius has obtained the result he was hoping for.

A good effort by all.

Imagine Yourself Other

Kierkegaard has misjudged the Alexanders.

They do not detest boredom.

Groovy, Red Hook and Yellowsun all wish to be the control crab.

So more questions are needed.

How would you pass the time, as control crab? asks Kierkegaard.

Good question! says Gaius. Give us your answers. Who's going first?

Me, says Alexander-Groovy. I would imagine I was one of my cohorts. In that way, I would be both inside and outside the experiment at the same time.

Ingenious, says Gaius.

Not so ingenious, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Let me ask you a question.

Not allowed! says Alexander-Groovy.

Let's hear it, says Gaius.

How would you imagine yourself to be me? asks Alexander-Red-Hook. Or better still, her?

That's two questions, says Alexander-Groovy.

Nevertheless, says Gaius, I'd like to hear the answer.

So would I, says Kierkegaard. How does one imagine oneself 'other'?

Like this, says Terence. This is me being a parrot.

He pretends to be a drone robot parrot.

I protest, says Alexander-Groovy. Whether I can do it or not is irrelevant. At least I'll be occupied.

Ask me a question, says Alexander-Yellowsun.

Same question, says Kierkegaard.

I would think about my little dropped eggs wrapped in paper, says Alexander-Yellowsun. And imagine each of them had its own eyes. Then I would imagine them learning how to read the poem on the paper, one word at a time.

That is the loveliest thing I've ever heard, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Yes, how did it go again? asks Alexander-Yellowsun.

Till the rocks melt wi' the sun and while the sands o' life shall run, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

I will love thee still my dear, sighs Alexander-Yellowsun.

Everyone is silent.

Terence stops being a parrot, and remembers Jinjing. How he loves him. Where is he?

Kierkegaard recalls that Belle, who reminds him of his former fianceé, invited him to go up the coast, or join her there later, if that was more convenient....

Gaius thinks that Alexander-Red-Hook demonstrates admirable qualities: Aggression, sensitivity, compassion, intelligence, a reasonable if imperfect memory, and no eggs to cause complications.

She would make an admirable control crab.

What a pity he promised Terence the final judgement.

But surely he can influence Terence.

Females Not

The two female sand crabs have been obliged to climb out of the breakfast bowls.

Just for a few minutes, says Gaius. I need to fill them with seawater.

You could have poured the seawater in around us, grumbles Alexander-Yellowsun. Now I've dropped some more eggs.

You poor darling, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Bother! says Gaius. I didn't need that complication.

He scrapes out the eggs.

Don't worry dear, he'll keep them, says Alexander-Red Hook. He's got your other eggs wrapped up in paper.

So I have, says Gaius. Now where did I put that paper?

The egg paper? says Kierkegaard, who is watching. I've got it right here.

He unwraps the egg paper, and Gaius transfers the new eggs to the paper.

This was Robbie's paper, with his poem on it, says Kierkegaard. When are we giving it back?

Not yet, says Gaius. Now, do we have a control crab?

Terence is just choosing one now, says Kierkegaard. It's between Alexander-Groovy and these two females.

No one told us about THAT, says Alexander-Red-Hook. 

So why has Terence eliminated the other two males? asks Gaius. 

They eliminated themselves, says Kierkegaard. 

Terence! says Gaius. Who is it to be?

Terence comes over, holding Alexander-Groovy.

Him, says Terence. He answered the last question.

The two females can't believe it. There were questions? No one asked them.

Gaius can see that the female crabs are not content with the process.

Wait, says Gaius. Terence, you have not included the females. Why might that be?

I was going to, says Terence.

It's not too late, says Gaius. 

It is, says Alexander-Groovy. I've been elected control crab.

Unfairly, says Alexander-Red-Hook.The process is being restarted. Ask us the questions.

I can't ask question one, says Terence. It's a daft question.

(he has remembered)

Ask it anyway, says Alexander-Yellowsun. 

Okay. Who's the strongest? says Terence. 

Why does the control crab need to be the strongest? asks Alexander-Red-Hook

We've been through that, says Kierkegaard. He doesn't.

He or she doesn't, snaps Alexander-Red-Hook. What qualities ARE required?

The ability to cope with boredom, says Gaius. The control crab must live in a bowl of seawater with no intervention for as long as it takes for the other subjects to... ahem... expire.

Boredom! says Kierkegaard. Too much information. Now no one will want to be the control crab!

Are You Dearly Average?

What's wrong with it? asks Terence.

A control crab need not be the strongest, says Kierkegaard.

What then? asks Terence. The meanest?

Nor the meanest, says Kierkegaard. As I understand it, the control crab should ideally be average.

Okay, says Terence. That's the first question. I'll find the crabs.

The crabs have dispersed to various locations.

Alexander-Curly and Alexander-Retro are eyeing the two pieces of Alexander-Times-Roman.

What do you think? says Alexander-Curly. Would it ruin the data?

Maybe not, says Alexander-Retro, but it wouldn't look good.

What wouldn't look good? asks Terence, looming up behind them.

Nothing, says Alexander-Curly.

He may as well know, says Alexander-Retro. He's the one who's responsible.

Yes, says Terence. I am. I have to choose the new control crab.

No one wants that job, says Alexander-Retro.

Why? asks Terence.

Look what happened to the last one, says Alexander-Retro.

Terence looks. But he knows the crab's logic is faulty.

That was BEFORE the experiment started, says Terence. It's not counted.

Go on, says Alexander-Curly. Keep talking.

Question one, says Terence. Who's the strongest?

He has forgotten that this was deemed a daft question.

The one who eats Alexander-Times-Roman, says Alexander-Curly. One or ones, I should say. We were both contemplating it. But we have reservations.

Why do you need reservations? asks Terence. You're already here.

Reservations about eating our dead friend, says Alexander-Curly. The contents of his stomach in particular.

Yuck, says Terence.

Because, adds Alexander-Retro, that could blow out the percentage of microplastics in OUR stomachs.

Spew! says Terence. Spew-double spew! And guess what?

What? asks Alexander-Curly.

There's another question, says Terence. Are you dearly average?

The two crabs look at one another.

No one likes to think they are dearly average.

No, says Alexander-Retro.

Nor me, says Alexander-Curly.

Good, then you're out, says Terence.

He goes back to tell Kierkegaard the results of his questions.

Scientific Insouciance

All right, says Belle, I'd better go. Okay to leave Terence with you?

After destroying our control crab and distressing the two females with pepper, what more could he do? asks Gaius.

What do you want me to do? asks Terence.

I was speaking ironically, says Gaius.

What does that mean? asks Terence.

The opposite, says Belle. It means he thinks there are plenty of things you could do.

Yes, stop wasting the salt for one thing, says Kierkegaard.

It's a sword, says Terence. And these are the lights.

It's a salt cellar, says Gaius. And those are salt crystals. But it's an imaginative image.

AND, says Terence, stopping doing something isn't one of the things I can do.

Of course it is, says Gaius.

Terence means it's not ongoing, says Belle. Once he stops, he's got nothing to do.

Nothing, says Terence, putting the sword down to prove it. See?

What would you like to do, Terence? asks Belle. There's so much going on. Gaius must need help with something.

He could choose the new control crab, says Gaius.

Woop-doop, says Terence.

It's an important task, says Belle. You might have to ask them a series of questions.

I'll do it! says Terence

Yes, says Gaius. That would be useful. Kierkegaard, help Terence come up with some suitable questions. Meanwhile I'll make up the various brews for our crabs to be exposed to.

Are you still going to use tap water? asks Belle. If you are, don't forget to add salt.

We may as well use the sea water, says Gaius. Now that we've got it

Kierkegaard is surprised at Gaius's scientific insouciance.

Belle isn't.

Gaius sets about filling the containers with equal amounts of seawater.

I've got the first question! says Terence. Who's the strongest?

What a daft question, says Kierkegaard.

Real Laser Sword

Gaius returns home with a bucket of seawater.

I had no end of trouble on the bus with this seawater, says Gaius.

You should have taken a lid, says Belle.

Hello, Belle! says Gaius Why are you here?

Dropping off Terence, and giving Sören advice, says Belle.

Really, says Gaius. What does he need advice for? I left clear instructions.

Let me enumerate, says Kirkegaard.

Firstly: as to the suitability of using tap water in our experiment.

Secondly: as to what to do now the control crab is no more

Thirdly: ....

What! says Gaius. The control crab is no more? What happened?

Ahem, says Kierkegaard. Perhaps Terence should explain.

Gaius looks enquiringly at Terence, who is pretending a salt cellar is a real laser sword.

What? asks Terence.

What happened? asks Gaius.

I went to look for Alexander-Times-Roman, says Terence. I was running, to find him fast. But I didn't know what he would look like, and there was a crab in my way and I didn't know it was him and he said watch out stupid.

Then what? says Gaius.

He broke, says Terence.

Belle shows Gaius the two pieces of Alexander-Times-Roman, in a olive container, sprinkled lightly with salt.

I put salt on him, says Terence. Not pepper.

Ah yes, the pepper, says Kierkegaard. To continue:

Thirdly: as to how to remove pepper from two female crabs who were threatening to withdraw from the experiment.

Gaius peers at the two female crabs reclining in their breakfast bowls showing no evidence of discontentment, or pepper.

Kierkegaard resumes:

Fourthly: as to how to get the brown stain off these shorts.

Aha! says Gaius. I wondered why you were walking around in your underpants.

Pepper And Regret

Terence returns, holding Alexander-Times-Roman, in two pieces.

I broke your crab, says Terence. But it was his fault.

Kierkegaard and Belle examine the pieces.

The control crab is deceased.

He was our control crab, says Kierkegaard.

Was he?  says Belle. Oh yes, you were going to ask my opinion...

It hardly matters now, says Kierkegaard.

Can't one of these be a control crab? asks Belle. You have five. And they've all got the same names. How cute.

I suppose I could delegate another one to be a control crab, says Kierkegaard.

Of course you could, says Belle. How about this one?

How quickly she seems to solve problems.

He will ask her about the tap water.

Tap water! says Belle. Who knows what silly old Gaius was thinking? Just throw some salt in.

See! She is solving this too.

She reminds him of his dear sweet Regine. He should have married her. Why didn't he?

Salt, says Kierkegaard. Where is it?

On the table, says Terence. I'll get it!

You remind me of my former fianceé, says Kierkegaard.

What happened to her? asks Belle.

She married someone else , says Kierkegaard. After I broke off the engagement.

Crikey, says Belle.

I knew I would regret it, if we married, says Kierkegaard, but also, if we didn't.

And I suppose you were right, says Belle. What was she like?

Lovely and intelligent, says Kierkegaard.

What on earth were you thinking? asks Belle.

Of my own personality, says Kierkegaard, I couldn't...

But Belle has spotted Terence twisting the pepper grinder over the crab bowls.

Not PEPPER! cries Belle.

Not much harm done, says Kierkegaard. Four of the crab bowls are empty.

Yes, but the other two, says Belle.

Those are the females, says Kierkegaard. They chose the breakfast bowls and climbed into them precipitately.

Well now they're covered in ground pepper, says Belle.

Sorry, says Terence. Wrong one.

Loss Of Control

Kierkegaard has identified a problem.

Gaius's instructions must be wrong.

"Fill all bowls but one with tap water".

But these are salt water crabs.

And Gaius is on his way to the coast to fetch sea water for the control crab.

Ready yet? asks Alexander-Retro.

Not yet, says Kierkegaard. What's your position on tap water?

Is this a philosophical question? asks Alexander-Retro.

No, a practical question, says Kierkegaard. But two pronged.

What are the two prongs? asks Alexander-Retro.

One: will you accept it? says Kierkegaard. And Two: should we accept it?

It's your experiment, says Alexander-Retro.

It's Gaius's experiment, says Kierkegaard. And he said tap water.

Then we must accept tap water, says Alexander-Retro. Although it defeats the purpose.

That's what I thought, says Kierkegaard.

Let's ask the others, says Alexander-Retro.

I'll wait for Gaius, says Kierkegaard.

Okay, says Alexander-Retro. By the way, Alexander-Times-Roman is missing.

Yet another distraction.

Kierkegaard wonders if he should look for Alexander-Times-Roman.

The doorbell rings.

It's Belle, with Terence.

Is Gaius here? asks Belle. I need him to look after Terence. I'm going up the coast.

It's not fair, says Terence.

Certainly, says Kierkegaard. Terence can help me find Alexander-Times-Roman.

 Terence runs off to look for Alexander-Times-Roman, without asking what he looks like.

Where is Gaius? asks Belle.

Getting sea water, says Kierkegaard. For an experiment. Perhaps I could ask your opinion?

Go ahead, says Belle.

Gaius left some confusing instructions, says Kierkegaard.

But Belle isn't listening.

She has heard a loud crack.

Terence has found Alexander-Times-Roman.

Be Daring And Taste It

Now, says Gaius, we need one sand crab to act as control.

What does the control crab do? asks Alexander-Times-Roman.

The control crab acts as an experimental control, says Gaius.

Doing what though? asks Alexander-Times-Roman.

In this case, says Gaius, the control sand crab will be placed in normal sea water.

Have you got any normal sea water? asks Alexander-Times-Roman.

Good point, says Gaius. Have we?

He looks enquiringly at Kierkegaard, who is scraping an unidentified brown crust from his shorts.

Yes? says Kierkegaard. What do you think this is?

Something of Arthur's, says Gaius.

Kierkegaard thinks it looks like dried sauce. Should he be daring and taste it?

What did you do with the water in the bucket? asks Gaius.

It's still in the bucket, says Kierkegaard. But it's mixed with crab mucous, will that matter?

Yes it will matter, says Gaius. What a nuisance. I shall have to obtain more sea water.

Let's set up the rest of the experiment, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

Yes, says Alexander-Curly. We want to get started.

Very well, says Gaius. Kierkegaard, will you assist them?

Me? says Kierkegaard. You'd better leave me detailed instructions.

Of course, says Gaius. Fill all bowls but one with tap water. Add one teaspoon of microplastics to the first one, two teaspoons to the second, and so on. Then add the crabs.

This seems clear and simple to Kierkegaard. What can go wrong? Nothing.

I'll be back in an hour, says Gaius, picking up the bucket of seawater, tears and crab mucous.

He pours it down the sink, and leaves for the bus stop.

Kierkegaard is left with the bowls, microplastics and sand crabs.

Alexander-Red-Hook and Alexander-Yellowsun have bagged the two breakfast bowls.

They are both females. Kierkegaard wonders if this matters. Too late now. They have climbed in.

We want  to be next to each other, says Alexander-Red-Hook. Because we are friends and one of us has had a bereavement.

O yes, says Alexander-Yellowsun. That was ME! Where are my eggs?

Wrapped in paper, says Kierkegaard. I'll look for them later.

The two female sand crabs wait for their water.

Alexander-Times-Roman comes over.

Curly, Groovy, and Retro have voted me control crab, says Alexander-Times Roman. That okay with you two?

 Fine, says Alexander-Red-Hook. You can look for the eggs.

You don't tell a CONTROL crab what to do, says Alexander-Times-Roman.

But you've got nothing to do until Gaius gets back, says Alexander-Red-Hook.

This is true. He may as well look for the eggs.

And Kierkegaard won't miss him.

Kierkegaard has just discovered a problem.

Sexist I Know

I hope you don't mind, says Kierkegaard. I had to borrow your shorts.

I didn't know I had those, says Gaius. In fact, they might be Arthur's.

Yes, they are Arthur's old ones, with purple skulls.

I thought they weren't really your style, says Kierkegaard.

They're not yours either, says Gaius. But never mind. We have a solution to our problem.

Which was? asks Kierkegaard,

How to distinguish the sand crabs from one another, says Gaius.

Can't they do that? asks Kierkegaard.

Of course they can, says Gaius, but imagine this scenario. There are four sand crabs in olive containers, all named Alexander. There are two additional sand crabs in breakfast bowls, also named Alexander. There is a storm, and a power blackout. The sand crabs panic. When the power comes back on, they may or may not return to their proper containers, in their confusion.

Or breakfast bowls, says Kierkegaard.

Yes, or breakfast bowls, says Gaius. Do you see the problem?

They may or may not return, says Kierkegaard. If they don't, we have lost them.

That is not what I was referring to, says Gaius. They MAY return to their designated container or bowl, but they may return to another.

Either way, we've got them, says Kierkegaard. I don't see the problem.

If they return to the wrong concentration of microplastics-in-solution, says Gaius, our results will be nullified.

I see! says Kierkegaard. Forgive me for being a dunce. It must be these shorts.

I fail to see how, says Gaius. But anyway, we have a solution. Their names on their backs in different fonts. This sand crab has already made the wise choice of Times Roman.

No, that was Alexander, says the fifth Alexander. I fancied Red Hook.

I prefer the traditional fonts, says Gaius. Tried and tested.

Some of the sand crabs look disappointed.

Gaius relents.

In the end, after much consultation with the sand crabs, and help from Kobo regarding what is the latest (who knew?), and scoffing from Ageless (less than helpful), the sand crabs are individually fonted, as we see below:

Alexander ( male) . font: Curly
Alexander ( male) . font: Times Roman
Alexander ( male) . font: Groovy
Alexander ( male) . font: Retro
Alexander ( female) . font: Red Hook
Alexander ( female) . font: Yellowsun

This is how Kierkegaard recorded it.

Sexist, I know.

Nothing Is

Kierkegaard is changing his trousers.

Ageless is sulking.

Gaius is looking for six individual containers.

He has found four round ones which once contained olives.

At least they have lids.

It's not ideal, mutters Gaius.

Nothing is, says Ageless.

Two of the sand crabs will have to go into breakfast bowls, says Gaius.

So much for experimental integrity, says Ageless.

I can manage without that, says Gaius.

Ha ha! laughs Ageless. Hear that, you crabbies?

We're no longer to be referred to as crabbies, says an Alexander.

What then? snorts Ageless. You're all named Alexander.

Good point, says Gaius. That may well compromise the experiment. We must find a solution.

Numbers, says Ageless.

We're not having numbers, says a second Alexander. Numbers suggest inequality.

Letters? suggests Gaius.

Ditto letters, says a third Alexander.

May I make a suggestion? asks Kobo.

Go ahead, says a fourth Alexander.

Your names in individual fonts, says Kobo.

Beloved! says Ageless. What do clams know of individual fonts?

More than you think Ageless, says Kobo. For example, Red Hook, Yellowsun.

Times Roman, says Gaius.

So old fashioned, says Kobo.

I'm old fashioned, says the second Alexander. How would we do it?

I would inscribe your name on your back in Times Roman, says Gaius. From then on, you could be distinguished from others in your cohort. In other words, we would know it was you.

Wait up, says the second Alexander. Would it be permanent?

You dickhead! says Ageless. An enforced diet of microplastics causing premature death will be permanent,

I didn't say I minded, says the second Alexander.

The other five Alexanders applaud by clicking their claws together: click-clack-go-times-roman!!! .

Kierkegaard emerges from Gaius's room in dry shorts.

Uber And Out

Whereabouts on North Terrace? asks Angus.

The State Library, says Robbie.

It'll be closed, says Angus. 

I stand out the front, says Robbie. In ma boots. Which will be full o' water.

Is that YOU? says Angus. 

Aye, says Robbie. 

So that poem about the seas ganging dry was your poem?

Aye, it was, says Robbie. Wu'd ye me to gi' ye another?

Too late, says Angus. Here's the Library.

Robbie swipes his card and gets out. 

He plods to his plinth in the rain.

Somehow he has to get back onto it.

We won't wait though. He's done it before. He'll be fine.

Who's paying for the next leg? asks Angus.

Gaius has been deep in reverie, devising his microplastics experiment. Six crabs, that will mean....

Kierkegaard has been tending to the crab bucket, which has filled up with crab tears. Some mucous-rich water has spilled on his trousers. How annoying, he will have to.... 

Ageless has no intention of paying. He remains silent. Almost silent. Ruurk!

The crabbies stop weeping and listen. What will happen? Will they have to get out and walk?

Anyone else got the app? asks Angus. 

It turns out that no one in the car has it.

You can always get one, says Angus.

So Gaius gets out of the back seat and into the front passenger seat and begins the process of getting an Uber app.

After which Angus drives everyone to Gaius's.

Have a good crab and lobster breakfast! says Angus. Wish I could join you!

We won't be eating these crabs, says Gaius. They are volunteer subjects. And Ageless lobster is a senior team member.

Sorry, says Angus. I wasn't to know.

You weren't, says Gaius. No hard feelings.

He pays Angus. who drives off to pick up another customer. 

Curses! says Gaius. He's gone off with our rakes.

At least we've still got the umbrella, says Kierkegaard.

A small mercy, says Gaius. Not that I'm dry. Nor are you. What happened?

The crabbies, says Kierkegaard. They cried. The bucket filled up with salt water and mucous.

Let's hope that will not affect the experiment, says Gaius.

He fumbles with his key, and they all go inside.

Right, shall we get started? says Gaius. 

I thought I might first change my trousers, says Kierkegaard.

You do that, says Gaius. I'll separate the crabbies. And by the way, remind me to stop calling them crabbies. It's most unprofessional.

The sand crabs nod and wink at one another. From now on proceedings will be professional.

This is what they expected.

While The Sands O' Life Shall Run

It's late, or very early, depending.

There will be no buses.

I'll call an Uber, says Robbie.

The Uber comes quickly.

Hop in, says Angas, the driver.

Is it a'right if we bring six wee crabbies in a bucket? asks Robbie.

Is there a lid on the bucket? asks Angus.

Noo, ye'll need to drive slow, says Robbie.

Gaius, Kierkegaard and Robbie get in, followed stiffly by Ageless.

A lobster? says Angus. Well done!

The passengers decide to ignore this remark which seems to make an assumption.

Angus heads for the city.

Rain pours down heavily. He turns on his wipers.

It is only now that he notices the rakes.

Can't see a thing out the back with those rakes there, says Angus.

Apologies, says Gaius. If you stop, I'll put them in the boot.

Angus jerks to a halt, and flicks the car boot open.

Gaius gets out with the rakes.

Rain drips from his head to his neck and trickles down his back, in a runnel.

He throws the rakes into the boot, bangs it shut and gets back in the Uber.

Drop me in the city will ye?, says Robbie. I mun get back to ma plinth.

What about your paper? asks Gaius.

I'll pick it up later, says Robbie. When there's nae more eggs in't.

For we must remember that the sixth Alexander dropped viable eggs, and Gaius wrapped them in paper.

Of course Gaius did not get out of the Uber to put the rakes in the boot without first giving Kierkegaard the paper.

Kierkegaard has little interest in the viable eggs, but much curiosity regarding the paper.

Might there be poetry on it?

He unwraps the eggs and smooths out the paper.

Most of  the words are illegible, due to egg smears.

But verse four is clear:

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun,
And I will love thee still my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

He greatly admires verse four. He reads it aloud.

The crabbies in the bucket are sentimentally weeping.

The bucket soon fills with salt water.

Viable Eggs

The Alexanders communicate with their fellow Alexanders.

Some are not fond of science.

Some are not interested in improving the lot of their fellow crabbies.

A few have not heard of Gaius.

Only three have heard of Kierkegaard.

They all know Robbie Burns. But not all of them find his poetry comprehensible.

This takes some time.

The tide turns and starts to come in.

woosh weersh woooosh

We have five volunteers, says Alexander.

Including you? asks Ageless.

Six, including me, says Alexander.

It is now up to Ageless to make a list of the volunteer Alexanders.

Pencil!

woosh weersh woooosh!

Kierkegaard always has a pencil. But it is raining again, and he has opened his umbrella, so one hand holds the umbrella while the other grasps the yellow bucket. This makes it awkward to get hold of a pencil.

Are ye in a pickle? asks Robbie. Let me hold the bucket.

Kierkegaard hands Robbie the bucket, leaving one hand free to reach into his pocket for a pencil.

He hands the pencil to Ageless.

Ageless now lacks only paper.

Paper!

woosh weersh woooosh

Hum, says Gaius. The tide's coming in. Scoop the volunteers into the bucket.

Wait, croaks Ageless. I haven't got all their names yet. No paper!

Hoots mon, they're a' call'd Alexander, says Robbie, scooping.

This isn't well organised, says one Alexander to another.

No, it isn't, agrees the Alexander. Why don't they give us numbers?

I suppose they think numbers are too impersonal, says a third Alexander.

That's comforting, actually, says a fourth Alexander.

A fifth Alexander is dropped into the bucket and lands on top of the first, second, third and fourth Alexanders.

They're just finding some paper, says the fifth Alexander. We might have to get out.

No way, says the first Alexander. It's raining. What use is paper?

Someone should tell them, says the second Alexander. Rain makes paper soggy.

They're scientists, they should know that, says the third Alexander.

What is happening up there? Are they really looking for paper?

The sixth Alexander might know.

The sixth Alexander is dropped into the bucket.

What's going on? ask the other Alexanders. Are we waiting for paper? Do we have to get out?

No it's all right, says the sixth Alexander. Well, it is and it isn't. I dropped a few viable eggs in the scoop, not that I cared, but the one they call Gaius insisted they be wrapped up in paper.

Well, I think that shows commitment, says the fourth Alexander.

We Are All Alexander

The rain stops momentarily.

Moonlight floods the sand.

The tide has gone out.

Gaius and Kierkegaard appear with rakes, a yellow bucket, and an umbrella.

Robbie feels obliged to acknowledge them.

(Ageless does not).

O mirk is the midnight hour, says Robbie, and loud the tempests roar.

Robbie Burns! says Gaius. I'd know you anywhere, with or without a recitation.

I'm withoot ma boots, says Robbie.

Your legs have made excellent holes in the sand, says Gaius. We should find plenty of sand crabs.

Kierkegaard shakes his umbrella.

Raindrops scatter.

You'll be Kierkegaard, says Robbie. Pleased to meet ye.

Robbie Burns, the Scottish bard? says Kirkegaard.

Aye that's me, says Robbie. I hear ye're now Gaius's off-sider.

Kierkegaard nods. And you're Ageless's off-sider?

I'm no man's off-sider, says Robbie. I'm here for justice.

Justice, says Kierkegaard. How so?

For the wee crabbies, says Robbie. Ageless has been warnin' the crabbies of your intentions.

Then we may as well go straight to Saint Kilda, says Gaius. What a nuisance!

Not sae fast! says Robbie. The crabbies ha' their ain side o' the story.

You've located some crabbies? asks Gaius.

Aye, says Robbie. They seem inexplicably keen.

Gaius walks across to where Ageless is lurking, between two holes, each one containing a crabbie.

He must tread carefully.

Well done Ageless, says Gaius. I hear you have been warning the crabbies.

( How easily one falls into calling them crabbies)

Ruurk! says Ageless rudely.

Is this him? asks a crabbie.

It is I, says Gaius. Gaius Plinius Secundus, friend of Ageless, your instructor.

Ruuurk! repeats Ageless.

We are Alexander, says the first crabbie, and we'd like to volunteer for your experiment.

You are both Alexander? says Gaius. Do you not find that confusing?

No, we are all Alexander, says Alexander. Some of us used to call ourselves Xander. Now THAT was confusing.

Yes, that WAS confusing, says the other Alexander.

Do any more Alexanders wish to participate? asks Gaius. If so, perhaps they could give their names to Ageless.

A master stroke, by Gaius.

How can Ageless resist this important repetitive task?

Danish Noir Goes Too Far

Make it a short one, says Ageless.

nooo! say the crabbies.

I'll make it a fast one, says Robbie.

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, tim'rous beastie....

That's enough, says Ageless. Look at their faces.

The wee crabbies look sad.

Tears well up from unknown sources and teem down the sides of their sand coloured carapaces like waterfalls.

Tell him why you don't like it, says Ageless.

You tell him, weeps one of the crabbies. You know.

I certainly know, says Ageless. That poem is dedicated to a timorous mousie. Not a good choice for two bold young crabbies.

The two crabbies stop weeping and the waterfalls diminish.

I'll give them Tam o' Shanter, says Robbie.

No, you've missed the moment, says Ageless. Times a'wasting.

Robbie can understand that.

Ageless continues:

Now you brave young crabbies, how are things generally?

Not so good, sniffs a crabbie. Our mortality is compromised. We blame it on the increasing incidence of microplastics in the sand and the ocean.

So you are aware of it, says Ageless. That's something. And what would you say to being part of an experiment?

What is it? asks a crabbie.

Several of you would be captured, says Ageless. Then taken to the home of the natural historian Gaius Plinius Secundus and his off-sider, Sören Kierkegaard.

oo, says a crabbie, are they friends now?

That is irrelevant, says Ageless.

It's no' irrelevant, says Robbie. You never mentioned Kierkegaard till just now.

Well yes, they are friends now, says Ageless. And would have been before, had they known one another.

That's an uplifting thought, says a crabbie.

Perhaps you'd like to think uplifting thoughts while Gaius feeds you and your friend here on different concentrations of microplastics and monitors what happens? says Ageless.

That's RIGHT! says Robbie.

The two crabbies look at one another.

We both have a fondness for science, says one.

And a wish to improve the lot of our fellow crabbies, says the other.

And of course we've heard of Gaius Plinius Secundus. Who hasn't? says the first one.

And the involvement of Kierkegaard adds a frisson of Danish noir, says the second.

That's going a bit far, says the first crabbie.

Nevertheless Ageless sees which way the wind is blowing.

Foolish gullible crabbies.

And he is not happy.

Crabbies Ye Are No Alone!

We can't stop him, says Ageless. But we can warn the sand crabs.

Aye, I'm with ye, says Robbie.

We'll stay here in the library until it gets cooler, says Ageless. Then we'll go.

'Tis meant to be rainin' later, says Robbie.

Rain cannot thwart a lobster, says Ageless.

Nor a Scotsman, says Robbie. But I'd do well to rescue ma boots.

How will you do that? asks Ageless.

I dinna know, says Robbie. But t'would be a pity should they fill up wi' water.

Pull the other one, says Ageless. Your boots aren't hollow.

Robbie sighs.

They are these days. And t'was indeed a pity. The metal rods inside went rusty and were no' replaced.

Ageless shakes his head. Poets!

Later, he and Robbie catch a bus to West Beach.

They get off the bus. It's dark already and warm rain is pelting down.

Drear weather for finding wee crabbies,  says Robbie. They'll be stayin' under.

I'll call them out, says Ageless.

You have a call for fellow crustaceans? asks Robbie.

I do. Follow me, says Ageless.

He leads Robbie down a ramp onto the sand beside the churning sea.

All the wee crabbies are keeping themselves under the sand, understandably.

Excelsior!  cries Ageless.

No sand crabs come out.

Excelsior? says Robbie. They understand Latin?

Apparently not.

Last one out's a jelly! shouts Ageless.

Nothing.

An empty promise, says Robbie. Let me try.

Crabbies ye are no alone! says Robbie.

Perhaps there is something in the Scottish accent.

Perhaps there isn't.

But two wee crabbies poke their heads up, in adjacent pools.

oo,  rabbie!!

oo, rabbie, gi'us a pome!

Come oot! I have a fine one for ye, says Robbie.